Rogha an da dhiogha lesser of two evils
by Iwakeupfromstone
Summary: Was it really worth it? Risking everything for a bit of love, a bit of relief? But did there really exist a lesser of two evils? Con/Murph slash. Rated 'M' for a reason! Violence, shag, swearin' an' a whole lot av Oirish drinkin!
1. Prologue, January 3, 1983

Disclaimer: don't own anything but the blu-ray dvd.

Also not beta'ed, 'cause I can't find anyone to do it for me.

Hope you enjoy it! _and that I have the guts to continue_.

* * *

_I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love._

- Francoise Sagan

_*_

They'd been running for a while now, Murphy didn't know for how long, and Connor thought they were lost. He came to a halt and looked over his shoulder. Murphy stopped next to him and brought his hands to his knees, looking at the brown grass and earth under his feet. The air was thin and hurt his lungs. He panted and murmured something that got lost in the ruthless north wind.

Connor fell on the soft grass and watched Murphy.

"I can't see 'er Murph, we've lost 'er!"

Murphy tried to catch his breath to say something, but failed. His face was as red as a beet and his shoes were covered in mud.

"Ye 'av ter move more often Murph, oi can 'ear ye lungs, they're screamin'!"

"Ain't… funny… Con… We've been… running.. all time!"

Murphy sat down, careful not to sit in something that might or might not have been the remains of a crow. He looked around. Brown hills and more hills as far as the eye can see. The wind was dancing in the long grass, maneuvering around pointy, grey rocks. He saw a bird high in the air, preying on mice. The sky was a thick blanket of grey. In the far left storm clouds were gathering and he could see a faint curtain of rain. This was the big nothing.

Ma would be furious. They weren't allowed to go this far and Murphy still had to clean the shed and weed the small field next to their cottage, because he lied he'd done it yesterday. And it was probably dinner time 'cause Murphy's stomach rumbled.

"I'm hungry. I want sausengers. Or stew."

"My arse's freezin' aff."

"Ma will be so mad if she finds out where we are."

"I want ter go home."

"I'm thirsty."

Connor rolled his eyes.

"Oh shut the fuck up Murph. Ye complain al' the time. There's no adventure in ye!"

"Where are we anyway?" Murphy tried not to sound scared, but his brother knew him too well. That's what twins were for.

Connor stood up and pointed to the west, to a small square of green amidst the brown. Murphy could barely see it.

"There's Kelly's ol' field, so the village must be behind it."

"But that's _miles_ away Connor, I'm so tired!" Murphy sighed deeply.

"Can't ye enjoy this? We've never been this far I think!"

"Well I want ter go home." Murphy stood up, with a crabby look on his face.

"I'm not going to carry ye."

"I'm not a baby!"

"Yer actin' as one."

"AM NOT!"

Murphy tackled Connor, smacking him on the face. Not too hard though, 'cause Connor was his brother and Murphy loved him. They rolled down the hill, fighting and laughing. Murphy lost.

"So, why did she want to strangle ye?"

Connor folded his arms and looked sternly, imitating how Patrick O'Sullivan's dad had looked last week, when they tried to steal potatoes from his field.

Murphy pouted his lips and looked up to Connor. He didn't like it when Connor interrogated him, belittled him like a baby.

"I pushed 'er away an' she fell down. Ain't me fault!"

"Why?"

Murphy looked at his shoes and stammered.

"She… She tried ta kiss me."

"Haha, what!?"

"DON'T LAUGH CONNOR, not funny!"

"Alright alright,", Connor sniggered.

They started to walk back to the village, which was at least one hour away if they kept it up. It began to rain and the earth was getting soppy. It wouldn't take long before they were soaking wet.

"Don't ye like 'er? Saoirse is the most popular girl in town! But I think that brother of 'er's a bit strange."

"Eeeww… I don't like girls Connor!" Murphy exclaimed and shuddered demonstratively. Girls were weird. Why would he need them if he had a brother like Connor?

"Why not? Ma's a girl!"

"No she's not!"

"Yeah dumbass, she is. Maybe a bit older, but still a girl!"

"Well I don't like girls. I only like Ma an' yer."

"That's silly."

"Yer silly yerself."

"Well Saoirse is a floozie anyway so glad she didn't got ter kiss ye! You might get cooties!" Connor stuck out his tongue and giggled, slapping Murphy softly on his shoulder.

"Eww Connor, shut yer bake!" Murphy had had lice twice and the thought of girl cooties utterly terrified him. He scratched his head involuntarily and looked at his nails.

"Ssst, I can hear the Church bells."

Together they counted the clock strikes. It struck six times, the wind carrying the low sound over the dead hills.

"Fuck! It's dinner time!" Connor yelled. "Hurry up!"

"Ma said yer not allowed to say fuck Con."

"Fuck ma!"

They began running. The rain made it impossible to see a thing and Murphy tripped over a rock and landed head-down in the mud.

"Ouch! Now me clothes are all wet." Murphy tried to stand up, but slipped again, the mud now covering his whole body and face.

Connor helped him up. "Ma will be so pissed. Come on."

"Stupid hills. Why didn't Ma live in a place with a stran'? Or somewhere warm?"1

"We should ask Ma if she'll take us ter the stran' once. When she's not angry anymore."

"And when I've done me chores. I hate feeding the chickens. They peck me legs."

"That's 'cause ye smell!"

"Bloody brother!"

When they finally reached the cottage it was getting dark. The guard dog was sniffing Murphy, licking his muddy clothes as they walked to the crooked wooden front door Ma constructed herself when a big hail storm had tore off the first one. There was no point in sneaking in through the bedroom window, like they usually did, because they'd missed dinner, which they never did. Ma was a brilliant cook, or so Murphy thought. But she could get so scary when she was mad. And unbelievably strong.

Before they could knock on the door it flew open, almost hitting Connor's head. Ma came out, fuming with madness, her long, curly red hair sticking everywhere. She wore her greasy cooking apron, the wooden spoon that Connor bended one time still sticking out of the left pocket, red from tomato sauce. Her posture fit the whole door. She looked absolutely terrifying. They both swallowed, looking at each other before looking at ma.

Quickly she grabbed Murphy by the collar and Connor's ear, pinching it hard. She swiftly dragged them in, screaming:

"WHERE THE HELL 'AV YOU TWO BOYS BEEN!?"

* * *

1 Stran': beach


	2. Aequitas

It was this time again.

Murphy MacManus lay on his right side in bed, scratching the mole on his face, the other hand resting underneath his cheek. In the dim light coming from the moon outside the large window, but what may as well have been a streetlight (Murphy didn't care), he could just see the slowly moving figure of his brother lying in the bed besides his, his back turned to him.

Murphy had been faking sleep again.

He grinned in the darkness, looking at his stupid brother. That idjit. Surely after being together for so long Connor would've noticed that tiny difference between really sleeping and _sleeping_? Not to mention they were twins.

People that fake it look different. Murphy knew. Maybe it was in the tense nerve in the corner of closed eyes. Maybe it was in the slight grin in the crook of the mouth. Mischievous. _Knowing. _

Murphy had stayed awake all night, waiting for Connor to get home from that awful late night job of his. Had laid awake all night in that goddamn creaking old bed of his, which was so small his feet stuck out and would be freezing to death every time he awoke. He had complained about it to Connor once, jealous because Connor's bed was clearly bigger in Murphy's eyes.

"_Mine's not bigger, ye twat. Yer fucking five inch taller than me!"_, he'd replied.

"_Ye wud tease me about it, how can ye forget?"_

Murphy had responded by throwing his pillow at Connor's head, which had missed him completely, and resulted in a massive pillow fight, which Connor won, of course.

Murphy enjoyed those silly fights and arguments, which he secretly called Brother Quality Time. Drinking, and doing drunk stuff was different. Anyone could do that. This was so much more. It was home.

Even now he'd been lying beneath the thick blankets for hours he was still cold. He prayed to God they wouldn't have to stay long in this Godforsaken apartment, no less creaking and old, and goddamn cold.

But it was he who got them into this shitty situation in the first place, one month ago.

"_Tha fuck is this son?" _

_There it was._

_Murphy dropped the disassembled gun on the table, next to the ragged cloth and the cleaning oil, slowly turned around in his seat and plucked his stained cigarette out of his mouth to reply. He had expected this. Ever since 'Da' was back in their lives he had been tense and aggravated, felt encaged. Connor had noticed it and tried to ease Murphy, but to no avail. Murphy wasn't going to pretend he was a good son. _

_He looked his father in the eyes, not really caring what would happen. Not anymore. He noticed the magazines in his father's left hand, the ever present cigar in the other. He had tore the magazines up. The ones Connor had nicked for him because Murphy was too embarrassed to buy them._

"_Fuck _Da_. Those were private." he said blandly._

_He felt anger rising in him, boiling his skin. He felt nauseous. Who the fuck did he think he was?_

"_Stand up!"_

_Murphy balled his fists and stood up, acting casual but feeling so wary underneath. He could feel his father's hateful, raw glare on him. Where the fuck was Connor?_

"_I'll ask ye one more time son. What the fuck is this shit? Does yer brother know this?"_

"_Leave him out of it."_

_Murphy felt his rage growing. He felt like throwing up. He wanted to hit his father in the face. What did he know about it anyway. The bastard had been gone for 25 years and _now _he decided to be their father? Murphy didn't even remember him. Connor and he were fucking three years old when Da left. Fuck that shit. This was going to get ugly._

_Murphy ducked when his father threw the torn papers at his face. The cigarette fell out of his hand, landing only inches away from the spilled oil on the floor._

"_What the fuck man, who the fuck do ye think ye are! Stay out of me world, I don' want ye!"_

_This was getting really ugly. Murphy realized too late his father was aiming for him. The calloused fist hit him in the eye. Murphy staggered backwards, hitting the table hard with his back. Pain exploded in his head. His eye was already swelling._

"_FUCK!" _

_Murphy carefully touched his eye while shielding himself from his father, trying to recollect himself. It hurt like hell and he couldn't see shit._

"_What are ye, some kind of fucking faerie? Ye like ter take it up the arse boy? Fucking disgusting!"_

"_SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Murphy screamed and lunged towards his father, knocking him to the ground and punching him several times in the stomach._

_  
"FUCKIN' SISSY! Get the FUCK off of me or I'll hit yer face until you see some _real_ faeries!"_

_His father tried to shove him away and struck his knee to Murphy's groin, but Murphy's anger made him impervious to everything._

"_So yes, da! What if I'm a fucking queer! So WHAT if I FUCKING enjoy takin' it up the ass!? What would ye care, ye were NEVER 'ere!"_

"_Fuck no it shows! Got me own son to turn into a fucking wee piteog!"_1

_  
"I'LL DO YE!"_

_Just as Murphy clenched his fingers around his father the door opened. Connor was back._

"_FUCK MURPHY! What the fuck!" he yelled._

_Murphy felt his brother throwing his arms around him, trying to lift him up, away from his father, who didn't say anything, but panted like an old dog. He looked at Connor with tears in his eyes and stood up. He probably definitely looked like shit._

"_Fuck Connor. He foun' my shit. He knows."_

"_Ach, Murph. C'mere." Connor engulfed him in a tight embrace. Murphy let him and began to sob, and hated himself for it. Behind him his father was slowly getting back up again, taking a noticeable deep breath._

_  
"Get. The. FUCK. Outta. Here. Boy. Or I'll fucking beat seven shades of shite out of ye! Ye fuckin' disgust us!" _

_He spit on the ground and rolled up his sleeves. His cigar was back in his mouth again._

_Murphy only froze, but Connor replied harshly, pulling Murphy into a tighter hug, softly stroking him to relieve him. Murphy let out the breath he'd been holding for too long and coughed roughly._

_  
"No Da. It disgusts YOU. And don't you DARE ever touchin' him again! Or I fuckin' won't know what I'm goin' to do to you!"_

"_Ye knew? Fuck Connor! He's a fucking fag!" his father spat out._

_  
"He's my brother." So shut the fuck up._

_Murphy looked back over his shoulder. His father just stood there, looking lost in some kind of way and fucking scary. His face was all red and battered and his lip had split. Blood was coming out of his swollen nose. Murphy felt strangely proud he did that to his own father. But the sight worried him even more._

"_Fine. Then both of ye, get the FUCK out of me house! I don' want a fuckin' faggot an' a wuss in 'ere! FUCKING GO!" _

_There it was._

_  
Connor didn't respond. Instead he let Murphy go, who turned around to face his father once more._

_Da._

_Il Duce. _

_Fucking narrow-minded fucker._

"_Come on Con. Let's get out of here. I didn't like it 'ere anyway." he said, voice softer than he wanted it to be._

_Connor glared at his father, who just stood there with folded arms. This was serious. They'd only been together for some months, and now they had to leave already._

"_Let's grab our stuff Murph. Don' forget that gun." Connor pointed at the table._

_Murphy didn't dare looking his father in the eyes when they left. Connor did._

_After three hours of silence and trying to find a place to sleep they wound up in a shitty hotel room with one bed and no couch. Murphy was sure he'd never been so tired before. His eye still hurt, but the pain was dull and felt old, familiar. He sat on the bed while Connor took a piss and stared into the room, fixing his eyes on a nonexistent point between a hideous, discolored lamp and the ancient tv, which seemed to be broken and missed its buttons. Again he tried to touch his eye. It fucking stung. He flinched._

"_It looks goddamn awful Murph. Your eye I mean." Connor said, like nothing had happened._

_Murphy sighed._

"_I feel goddamn awful. Fuck I know ye like him."_

_Connor walked towards the bed and sat next right to Murphy. Murphy looked up, feeling terrible._

" '_m so sorry Con…"_

_Connor sighed and hugged him again. Murphy groaned._

"_You're my brother Murphy. I'm not angry with ye. But this is so fucked up. Where did he find them anyway?"_

"_I… I don't know…" Murphy began to cry. _

"_I'm a fucking wuss, just like he said."_

_"Fuck Murph, shut the fuck up. We'll get through this. It's not like he's been with us a long time. Come on. That old fuck."_

_  
Murphy smiled. "Yer right. Fucking prick! 'e's been what, like 25 years in the Hoag an' nigh we're suddenly 'is 'boys'? Fer fuck's sake!"_

"_Well _yer_ not his boy anymore Murph!"_

"_Fuck Con! Asshole!"_

"_Fucking fag!"_

_Murphy laughed for the first time that day, a warm, heartedly laugh, and fell down onto the bed. He quickly wiped his left eye, not daring to touch his right again. Connor lay beside him. It was just the two of them again._

"_Who's gonna sleep in the scratcher?"_

"_I'm too tired to fight over it. You can have it Murph."_

"_Willing ta share."_

"_Damn right you are, bastard!"_

"_Suas do chul!"_2

_  
"Póg mo thóin!"_3

"_Jaysus, I need a smoke!"_

"_I think ye left it at the apartment."_

_"Well, fuck."_

_But even though his brother had slept right next to him, keeping him warm, Murphy had barely slept, wondering what Connor really thought. But the subject hadn't come up again. Da was history to the Saints. It troubled Murphy to no end._

Murphy tried to shake the memory off, tried thinking of happy times (that time in the air vents in Copley Plaza Hotel) (or that time at the pub when Connor had gotten so pissed he tried to kiss Murphy – that was _heaven_), when his brother's soft moan brought him back to reality.

This was what he had been waiting for. His sole delight in this dreadful place. The only thing in his life worth staying awake for (and that meant something). His brother wanking of, touching himself right next to Murphy.

Murphy blushed at the vulgar thought and tried to ignore the faint glimmer of the rosaries, which Connor had hung next to the window. If this wasn't the most blatant sin in all history Murphy would gnaw his tattooed finger off while dancing to Swallow Tail naked.

Loving your own brother. Lusting for your own brother. Love thy Brother as Thyself. Yeah, fuck. Murphy loved Connor, his fucking _twin _brother, who was clearly enjoying himself now, completely unaware someone else was watching and enjoying it too.

Murphy thanked God for letting him discover his brother's little secret one night when Murphy couldn't sleep because it was so fucking cold. Murphy cursed God for letting him discover it.

It made it so much harder.

Fourteen years since Murphy felt the first confusing butterflies and Murphy was only falling more and more in love with his brother. But lately he had more and more trouble keeping it a secret. _Wanting_ to keep it a secret.

If this was the closest he'd ever came then fuck he was fucked. How could you love someone who was so god darn close in secret, how could you keep your fucking heart from exploding right out of your chest?

It was but a Cardinal Sin and Murphy was far beyond shame. Or regret. Never mind repenting. Connor was his drug. Better than sex, whiskey and green stuff combined. Watching had been enough for so many years. It would still have to be enough.

Murphy slowly rose from his pillow, careful to not disturb Connor, and propped himself up on one elbow, knowing Connor was as blind as a bat at night, and wouldn't notice anything. He smiled and closed his eyes, relishing in the rare sounds his brother made. He licked his lips and tasted faint nicotine, Guinness and sweat. He probably reeked of it too.

Connor had been an ass about it more times than he could count. Said he needed to shower more often. _Others _had said it was sexy. Murphy thought it smelled sexy but did what Connor asked. Because it was Connor who asked.

But Murphy tried not to think of the others. He needed to focus on Connor. His fucking hot brother, so oblivious to that fact too. And he made such beautiful soft sounds too.

Murphy wished that for once he could be the one incite those sounds out of his brother. Those sounds that turned into music in Murphy's ears. Panting, moaning. His brother stroking his long, fat…

Murphy flexed the fingers of his free hand unknowingly. He wanted to touch himself too, to jack off simultaneously with his brother's panting, imagining his hand was Connor's hand. Connor, who only liked girls. Who accepted that his brother was gay, and found it funny too because Murphy was strictest Catholic in town. Emphasis on _was._

In the other bed Connor was finally reaching his climax. Murphy could hear it in the hoarse panting. He almost couldn't resist reaching down, but he couldn't risk it. Risk his brother suddenly turning around, feeling eyes on his back, and seeing everything. Watching was okay. Murphy could fake that Connor's sounds had just woken him up, or that he woke up because he needed to take a piss.

Murphy could fake a lot of things.

Instead he bit on his lip when he heard Connor come with a low sigh. He waited a few seconds before silently lying back down again, but never taking his eyes off of his sexy brother, coming undone.

He saw his brother stumbling out of his bed, heading towards the bathroom. Only when he heard the water run he let out an equally low sigh.

When Connor returned to his bed Murphy faked again.

Thank God Connor was foolish enough to believe _anyone _could sleep through that nightly one man show. But Murphy had faked being totally wasted too when Connor got to work at 12pm.

After he had made sure Connor was blissfully asleep (symptoms: peaceful, steady breathing, goddamn annoying snoring), Murphy strolled to the bathroom to cool his now hell hot skin. He looked at his dark form in the dirty mirror. It was so _fucking_ wrong.

And since when was this not enough anymore? He had to keep it together. If Connor ever found out…

They had fought before, over both silly and serious things, but Murphy wasn't sure there would simply be a fight if his older by one hour brother found out that his little brother wanted to fuck him senseless. He would probably just leave like their father had done and Murphy would never see Connor again. He couldn't cope with that. But this was wrong. This wasn't brother love. It was forbidden, _incest_… right?

But something had to happen soon, because Murphy couldn't help himself anymore.

Connor was all he had and that made it harder every day. Ma was miles away, drinking like a fish. Rocco was gone. Da too, 'cause he was dead to Murphy.

The lust that had lingered for so many years had struck him right in the face like some fucking boomerang. It had marked him. Branded him.

Murphy touched the mirror with damp fingers, trailing his reflected cheeks, the other hand running through his hair. It was longer than before, because Connor had said something so significant to him, yet so trivial in Connor's eyes. That he looked good with longer hair. Murphy wanted to look good for Connor. He could always dream that someday Connor would be so drunk again. That he would kiss Murphy again, not caring that he actually was as straight as the Prudential Tower. Not caring that Murphy was his blood, his twin brother.

It was slowly killing him. That actually the thought of losing Connor made him want Connor so much he would definitely lose him.

He had to find a substitute soon. But everyone reminded him of Connor. He couldn't stop comparing other men to his brother. And his brother always won. Of course.

Murphy had sneaked off to a gay bar quite a few times when Connor thought he was working. Sometimes it had worked. Mostly it was just irritating. Murphy couldn't stand the queers and sissies. Would get angry with the bartender who tried to introduce him to definitely ugly guys. Would kiss someone else but forever taste Connor (he could never forget how Connor had tasted that night. Like Guinness, and vanilla. Which was so gay). And fucking in the men's room was so 1995.

Murphy touched and massaged his broad shoulders, which were tense from the awkward position he'd been in when he'd watched Connor. The hot tips of his fingers felt like cigarette burns against the cold skin on his back. Sometimes Connor would touch him there, squeezing him when he was stressed. It felt so good, even though it was what is was, merely a brotherly touch.

But Murphy could pretend a lot of things. Truth was overrated anyway.

Murphy let his hand slide lower to his chest, touching his right nipple and pinching it. He slightly opened his mouth, careful to not make a sound. Connor was a light sleeper.

His hand trailed even lower, to his stomach, which Murphy tried so hard to keep flat. The weekly drinking and binging nights with his brother weren't helping.

He snapped out of dreaming when he heard his brother's gruff voice from the other room. His hand lingered above his waistband, his hard on aching to be touched.

"Whatcha doin' up there? Ye haven't drowned have ye?"

Connor's voice was thick with Irish accent, a telltale sign he was dead tired.

"Oh shattap asshole or someone might _actually _drown the-night!" Murphy replied dryly.

Murphy heard Connor chuckle and decided to wait until tomorrow. It was Connor's time to pick up groceries.

" 'tis _Fucking _cold out 'ere."

He tried to evade Connor's gaze, who was lying on his stomach. He tried not to think of the fact Connor's back lay bare, and was so, so beautiful.

And how could Connor be so relaxed? He really had no clue Murphy was being a dirty little voyeur.

"Aye, so it is."_ But you're not, obviously, Connor._

Murphy let himself fall to the bed and quickly pulled his blankets over him, yawning in the musty fabric. He couldn't fake anymore. He was exhausted. Both psychically and mentally. He closed his eyes and welcomed the white spots in the corners of his eyes. He slowly felt himself sinking away.

"G'night Murph."

Back again. Groan.

"Shut up Con, tryin' ter sleep 'ere!"

Murphy grinned smugly underneath his blankets, peeking at Connor, trying to see if he was annoyed or not. Served him right.

"Oh fucking idjit!"

"Fucking wuss!" _Fucking tease. Fucking, fucking tease._

And finally, at five am, in Murphy's dreams it was that time again.

* * *

1 Piteog – Irish Gaelic word for sissy, swear word.

2 "Up yours"

3 "Kiss my ass"


	3. Mint, October 23, 1985

Mint. Toothpaste. Murphy had always hated it. The smell, the color and most importantly the taste. It tasted like death, like the time Connor and he had found the dead Robin underneath the oak tree near their house. Fucking disgusting. When he would reach his sixteenth birthday and could do what he want, he would throw the stuff away and never brush his teeth again. Only three years and two months, right? Sometimes he 'forgot' to brush his teeth, when he was tired or when Ma had made her delicious stew. He didn't want to get rid of that taste.

Connor always complained. Said his breath stank. Not as much as Connor's silent farts.

He snickered and looked in the mirror, feeling the toothpaste with his tongue. One more minute…

Connor was already lying in bed, probably reading the Flash Gordon comic Murphy nicked for him at school from that stupid kid Patrick O'Sullivan. Served him right. Patrick never chose Murphy in his soccer team. Just because Murphy couldn't run that fast.

Murphy counted in his head, lost track and guessed. Agitated, he gargled, spat and quickly rinsed his mouth. At least Connor wouldn't complain now.

Murphy scratched his mole and bit his lip. Lately he had begun paying attention to his face. Was he attractive, like Connor? His eyes were way too big and a very light blue. He had several freckles on his cheeks and nose. They made him look like a baby.

Made him look like an angel, Connor had said.

Murphy grinned. At least his smile was okay. But not as bright as Connor's.

He took a wash cloth from the rack behind him and hastily washed his face and armpits. At least he had more hair than Connor. And no zips.

Murphy stood on his toes and tried to reach the top of the cabinet. Connor could do it. He couldn't. He bit on his index finger, calloused from endlessly practicing on the fiddle Ma gave to him for his tenth birthday.

"Please God in Heaven, make me as tall as Connor. Make me taller, Amen." he murmured, so Connor couldn't hear him.

Connor had said he would go back to Boston when he was sixteen. Murphy didn't really want to. Fuarbhaile1 was a cold place and little, and the people were dorky, but it was peaceful and he enjoyed sneaking through the fields with his brother, stealing vegetables and scaring the sheep.

Would their Da still be alive? Ma didn't want to talk about him because he ran off when they were three. Murphy hoped he would never see him again. Da was a stupid bastard for leaving their mother. He wasn't as gullible as Connor.

But if Connor really wanted to go Murphy couldn't stay alone. They were twin brothers. Inseparable. Ma had said so many times. And she would understood if they both went. She would probably go to Nana and Granda in Caherdaniel.

Murphy finally rinsed his hands and put the light out. He almost tripped over the dirty laundry when he entered the bedroom, where Connor was lying with a smug look on his face and something in his hands. Murphy couldn't quite see what it was, because the only light in the room came from a candle behind Connor. But he had a hunch. He froze.

"What are ye holdin'?"

"Close the door." Connor simply stated. Murphy did.

"What are ye holdin' Connor?"

Murphy came closer and Connor quickly put the thing behind his back.

"I'm not going to scrap over it Murph. But first ye have ter guess what it is."

Murphy sat on his bed, not taking his eyes of Connor. He felt his cheeks burn. How did it get so warm so suddenly?

"Uhm…"

Connor cocked his head and smiled sweetly.

"Ugh fine. Did ye find it in my matrass?"

Connor nodded. Murphy sighed. He was busted. Connor would most definitely show it to Ma and then to his friends at school, to Patrick and Saoirse and Ennis and Finn…

_"_

_"okayalrightitsthat-stupid-magazine__-i-found-when-matookmetothebarbershopwith-pictures-"_

"Of men."

"Yes."

"So… You're gay?" Connor asked. Murphy couldn't see if his face changed.

"…Guess so?"

"Okay."

Well that was easy.

"So yer not mad or somethin'?"

"Why would I be? Yer my brother Murph. Here, put it back. I don't want to know what you did with it." Connor laughed, passing the magazine to Murphy, who clutched it in his hands.

"What would I do- Oh… Eww Con!"

"My God Murph, yer such a wuss! Do ye wanna see my stuff? I nicked some Playboys from Patrick. Haha that dumb shit thought it was his Da."

"Eww no."

"Whatev'."

Murphy lay down and pulled his blankets over his head. His pajamas itched. He made a small peephole in the folds, so he could still look at Connor, who was drinking from a glass of water.

"Yer not goin' to show it ta Ma, aren't ye?"

"Of course not. If yer not goin' to tell her I kissed Branna during P.E."

"Okay."

"Or Aine."

"Or…"

"OKAY. Sure."

Murphy yawned. "What time is it?"

"Twelve. Do yer wanna sleep?"

"Fuck no, that's way too early. Ma won't 'ear us anyway."

"Well she's goin' ta wake us up early remember. We're behind on French."

"Don't wanna think about French now Con. An' me fingers hurt. She knew I wanted a guitar, not a fiddle!"

"Yer not ta one who should be complainin'. Ma says she'll dance with ta Leipreachán at the end of ta rainbow before she'll let me play an instrument!"

"Ye just can't play Con. I've heard it too, 'tis awful!"

Murphy took Connor's glass and took a sip. Then he safely tucked the magazine away, next to the pack of cigarettes, trying not to look at the blonde boy on the cover. Now his secret was out in the open, now Connor knew of it, it didn't feel so bad. Maybe it was because Connor wasn't angry. Or disgusted. Even thought it was a sin, even though Murphy was a sinner. Murphy sighed.

"Don't ye think it's a sin? The bible says so. Our priest says so."

"Of course not. Yer not evil."

"But sinnin' ain't evil per se…"

"Surely we can talk about happier things Murph… I don't care what ye do or are, okay? Ye should just let it go, no one needs ta find out."

"But…"

"It's fine… -as long as ye don't try ta kiss me!"

"I'LL KISS YER RIGHT NOW!" In a split second Murph was out of bed and on Connor, straddling him with his legs and feverishly tickling his stomach with his blunt fingers. Connor burst out laughing and struggled to get out.

"OH GOD HAVE MERCY MURPH!"

"NEVER! I can go on all night! Serves ye right for searchin' me bed!"

"FUCK MURPH! I want to live!"

"Naww… Yer goin' ta die!"

_

* * *

  
_

1 Non-existent Irish village in the hills. Means 'Coldhome', but it's probably all wrong 'cause I don't know Irish for shit.


	4. Dignitas

FINALLY! Another chapter! Sorry guys, I've been sick with the flu :( Enjoy!

And just to please you: 2 chapters for the price of 1!

* * *

Murphy awoke to the obnoxious honking of an apparently really agitated bus driver outside on Dorchester Avenue. He groaned and put his pillow over his head, keeping his eyes tight shut. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep once they'd adjusted to the bright light in the room. His shoulder hurt from the awkward position he was lying in. He curled his toes and tried to block every sound: the ever present noise of the highway, the ticking of the loud, ugly clock Connor had bought from an Ukrainian junkie for five dollar (why would a Hungarian junkie need a clock?) after haggling for half an hour, Connor, going down on his breakfast. Connor, slurping his drink and munching on his much beloved Frosties.

It didn't work.

"Urgh."

Murphy slowly rose from his bed, opening one eye, which came to rest on Connor's bare back.

"What time is it?" he slurred, still half asleep.

Connor turned around and grinned.

"_Goodmooornin' sleepyhead. _It's eleven am. I thought you'd never wake up. How's yer head?"

Murphy tried to brush his unruly hair out of his nose, but it instantly curled back. He sneezed loudly and wiped his nose in his blanket.

"_Gesundheit Schlamper."_

"_Fick dich."_

"Well yer obviously in a good mood."

"Fuck ye, again."

Connor finished his breakfast while Murphy stared into the room, trying to recollect his dream from last night. It had involved…

…something absolutely perverted.

Murphy blushed at his thoughts and yawned. He stood up and grabbed the milk from Connor, finishing the glass. He looked at the fridge.

"Don't bother. That was our last milk. I'll be headin' to the shop soon."

Murphy groaned and sat down next to Connor. He grabbed the tattered pack of cigarettes from the table and hastily opened it. There were five cigarettes left. Anxiously he pulled one from the carton with his mouth and quickly lit it with the lighter Connor was holding up. He sighed contented and took a deep drag. The smoke was rushing through his chest, holding him in a tight grip. He could almost feel the nicotine entering his veins, the tar blackening his lungs. It felt damn good. He exhaled through his nose, feeling the warmth rise in his head. _Fuck cancer._

Murphy looked at the pack again. The last four cigarettes were bended and crumpled. They'd been stuck in Murphy's back pocket too long. Four cigarettes. That meant he had until lunch. Murphy smoked a pack a day, not including the cigarettes he stole from Connor.

"There's not enough for today. I need a new pack. Are ye going ta _Stop & Shop_?" Murphy asked.

"Ye can have mine. I'm not goin' that far for only cigarettes, toilet paper and milk."

"I don't want yours. I hate filters. They taste funny."

"…they taste like normal cigarettes. Anyway, take a shower. Ye smell."

Murphy grumbled something inaudible and headed to the bathroom, taking another drag of his cigarette. Connor stood up and took the least dirty looking shirt from the table, putting it on.

"I'm headin' to that Chinese guy's store, be back in ten minutes."

No response.

Connor sighed. "I'll buy ye a fuckin' pack of cigarettes, alright, grumpy?"

"_Thank you_…" came the sarcastic answer from the bathroom.

Murphy waited until he heard the front door slam before he undressed himself. He closed the bathroom door and took a towel from the laundry basket. Why didn't this atrocious apartment have any locks? He walked to the mirror and inspected his face. His skin was too pale. So much unlike Connor's tanned skin. His eyes lay too deep in his head, and they weren't nearly as bright as Connor's eyes.

He needed to shave, but was too lazy to do it. He would wait until Connor complained about it. He also ignored his neglected toothbrush again. No one would notice it.

He opened the shower curtain and turned on the hot water. With his cigarette still in his mouth he showered, staring at the ugly, yellow tiles on the wall. He blew the smoke into the bathroom and let his mind wander back to yesterday night.

"Oh beautiful brother…" he murmured. The cigarette fell from his mouth and Murphy sighed, closing his eyes and trying to recall his brother's scent. He only had ten minutes before Connor would get back. He touched his chest and slowly trailed down, keeping his eyes shut, so he could pretend.

Three minutes later he felt the familiar burning feeling coil in his stomach and he grunted and bucked his hips, his heavy orgasm exploding into white spots in the corners of his eyes.

Murphy opened his eyes when he heard Connor unlocking the front door, making sure there wasn't any evidence left. He grabbed the shampoo and reluctantly soaped his hair.

"Yer _still _in the shower? Don't use all the water!" he heard Connor yell from the living room.

"I'm washing my hair!"

"Good! It stank!"

"Fuck you!"

"_Fuck!"_

Thirteen hours later Murphy couldn't really remember how he ended up with some skinny Republican douche bag called Ted (or was it Bob?), who's moustache itched like hell, kissing in the men's room of a lousy club he also couldn't remember the name of.

Teeth were clashing as Ted (or Bob) was mouth fucking him harder, his tongue battling for dominance. The taste of Guinness intoxicated them both and the alcohol made Murphy's vision blurry and his movements erratic. Murphy didn't care, instead focusing at the hard length that was grinding his hips and clawing at Ted's/Bob's back. His own cock was fully hard.

Ted/Bob was pinching his nipple with one hand, the other trailing down to his crotch, but it stopped and lingered on his waistband. Murphy pulled his head back, dissatisfied and impatient.

"Hurry the fuck up already, I don't 'av all day!"

"Calm down, enjoy this." Ted/Bob replied before pushing Murphy against the wall, licking his lips and deepening the kiss before Murphy could protest. The moustache was getting in his nose, but he needed this so badly. Just forget about everything.

Murphy moaned and opened his mouth a little further, needing to feel every inch of that goddamn tongue that was so not Connor's, but could become Connor's if you closed your eyes. At least Ted/Bob knew what he was doing and obviously was horny, so Murphy didn't have to do a thing.

Suddenly the tanned man grabbed his cock through the fabric, squeezing hard. Murphy moaned hard in Ted's/Bob's mouth and pulled back for some air.

"Finally… Undo my pants already." He groaned, tugging on his pants. "An' yers."

"You're too impatient!" _Well, yeah!_

"Shut the fuck up Ted an' fuck me hard." Murphy said, wanting to just walk off right now and go home, so he might actually have a chance to drink some whiskey with Connor before he passed out. This was humiliating.

"My name's Bob."

"Oh… _Bob_…"

His pants were off in seconds and then a large calloused hand was kneading his ass. Murphy slid his hand to his dick, softly massaging the tip. He didn't want to come to early, but he was almost there. He'd been dry for weeks. It wasn't easy to slip out of the apartment when Connor gave that knowing look Murphy hated so much.

Sometimes he hated _everything _about Connor. The way he would care for Murphy when he was sick. The way he lectured Murphy when he didn't understand something in the papers. The way he stuck up for him no matter what. The way he always beat him at pool, or any card game. The way he laughed when Murphy miscounted the beers. The way it dawned on Murphy that his brother was so much smarter, so much better.

"Do you need preparation?" the man behind him asked, sliding his hand to Murphy's balls and caressing them.

Murphy gasped. "No, _fuck_! Just do it already!"

With one thrust Bob entered him, filling him completely. Not waiting for Murphy to adjust, he began to thrust violently into his body, while his hand was still touching his balls. The pain sent sparks to Murphy's head, burning inside him, loading him with raw heat. Murphy licked his lips and began to stroke his cock slowly, fingering the wet tip. He moaned loudly, not caring where they were or if someone might hear him, when Bob adjusted his thrusts and hit that delicious spot inside him. His vision went black for a moment and he moaned again, feeling the familiar warmth coiling in his stomach.

"_Fuck_! Faster! I'm almost comin'."

Bob grunted and began to kiss Murphy's back, licking the sweat that had gathered off of him. He fastened his pace, his hips snapping harder into Murphy's ass. Murphy groaned loudly, trying to meet his thrusts. His hand was twitching around his hard cock. Still he tried to hold off his orgasm. He wanted more. More pain, sweet suffocating pain.

"Come on, harder!" he cried out at Bob, who suddenly slowed his pace.

"But…"

"DON'T CARE! FUCK! ME! ALREADY!"

Bob took the hint and forcefully slammed into Murphy once again, burying himself balls deep, finally deciding to not hold back any longer. He almost pulled out again before slamming his big cock into Murphy's abused ass, his heavy balls slamming against Murphy's. He hit his prostate with every thrust, earning loud, incoherent curses from Murphy, who yelled every Irish swearword ever existed, or made up. Murphy arched and his muscles flexed as both pain and pleasure ruined his body. He now pumped his cock vigorously and he clawed at the tiled wall, growling like a beast. Bob's moustache was scraping along his back as Bob continued to lick him. He came when Bob bit him hard, breaking the skin in the nape of his neck. His orgasm waved through his body and took his breath. His hot and sticky release covered his hand and stomach and Murphy milked his cock one more time. Then he felt Bob release in him with one last aggressive thrust.

_Silent man_, Murphy thought as he opened his eyes slowly and regained his breath. He felt Bob leaving his body.

"Man, that was good. You're tight."

Murphy pulled up his pants and turned around, trying to ignore the dull pain in his ass. He looked at the skinny Republican, looking all spent. He hated Republicans. But this one knew how to fuck properly. Made him almost forget about Connor. He should do this more often.

"Do ye 'av' a cigarette?"

"Huh-oh sure." Bob looked puzzled and fetched a carton from his trousers lying in a heap around his ankles.

"It's Camel." Murphy replied mournfully when Bob gave him one. He took it nonetheless, lightening it with Bob's dick shaped lighter and taking a deep drag. Bob dressed himself silently, clearly confused by Murphy's behavior. Murphy smirked imply and blew smoke rings in Bob's face. Bob just stood there, questioningly, not realizing he'd just been a good fuck, nothing more.

Murphy cocked his eyebrows and rolled his eyes.

"I liked it, alright? Now get ta fuck off, I need ter wash meself 'ere." Murphy pointed with his cigarette at the sink in the corner. Bob opened his mouth and tried to say something, before Murphy shoved him out of the bathroom and closed the door, locking it.

"Thanks fer the cig fucker." _Man that guy was slow._

Murphy took another drag and walked over to the sink, routinely cleaning his stomach and hands, and ass. He didn't need to show everything to Connor. He probably reeked of sex and sweat. He looked into the cracked mirror, filled with finger stains and touched The Blessed Virgin Mary absentmindedly. He rubbed his cheeks and inspected his breath. Pure alcohol and nicotine. Good.

Murphy stumbled towards the heap of clothes and dressed himself. The bite mark in his neck bled and a dark spot appeared on his shirt.

As he stumbled out of the men's room he tried to ignore the looks of several men behind the shaded bar. Perhaps he shouldn't have let it go that far. The way he walked now practically screamed: "I JUST FUCKED". Well, fuck that.

Murphy shrugged to no one in particular and walked out. No one came after him, which meant that Republican had paid his drinks. He wanted to go home and sleep. He felt miserable. Neither the alcohol or Bob (or was it Ted? Murphy had forgotten _again_) had succeeded in eradicating the feeling he was going crazy. It felt like a big fat elephant was stomping on his chest. Connor should take him to the zoo once, Murphy had never seen elephants in real life. Had never been somewhere without Connor.

The alcohol was playing tricks with his head. On the way home he thought he saw Rocco smiling at him from the corner of his eyes. He thought he heard Rocco shout his name. And that man sleeping on a park bench looked too much like him. Murphy sighed and fetched another bended cigarette from his pocket. He fidgeted with it for a while before he stuck it in the corner of his mouth. He was nervous. Ashamed. His hair was damp. He should've downed more Guinness at the club. Three more beers and he would've been a happy drunk.

It was a long walk home.


	5. The Ruler, March 12, 1986

"It's 6.7 inch tall!"

Murphy woke up with a massive headache, the pain blurring his vision. He probably shouldn't have chugged so much Guinness and Finn's homebrew whiskey last night. But no, smartass had to try to out drink Connor. As if he didn't know that was impossible. He didn't even remember getting back to bed. Hopefully Ma wouldn't find out. Murphy sniffed his hands. Beer. He had to shower quickly.

Slowly his eyes accustomed to the bright light in the bedroom. He found out he was lying on the wrong side of bed, his white sheets a pile of heap underneath his knees. The blood had gone to his head and his feet were tingling. Lazily he rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up straight, rubbing his eyes. When his feet touched the ground it sent strong sparks up his spine. It hurt like hell.

"What the fuck are ye talkin' about?" Murphy tried to locate Connor but didn't spot him. He wasn't in the room.

"It's 6.7 inch!"

"What is? And where are ye?"

"I'm in the bathroom. Wait."

Connor walked in to the bedroom, wearing only a shirt and black boxers. He had Murphy's yellow ruler in his hand.

"Oh God what the FUCK did you do wi' that?" Murphy yelled and jumped of the bed, realization dawning on him. More sparks were shot up his spine and he sat again, holding his legs in the air.

Connor grinned and threw the ruler at Murphy's lap, who frantically tried to get it off of him.

"Measured my dick, of course. What else?"

"But.. Eww Con… That's disgusting. I use this at school!" Murphy held the ruler in the air with the tip of his thumb and tattooed index finger, making a 'yuck' face.

"So, wipe it off. And what's wrong with yer feet?"

"They're sleepin', but that's not the question! Why would ye measure yer… _cock_?"

"Well, ta know how big it is, ye dumbass."

Murphy flexed his toes, trying to get rid of the feeling. He cocked his eyebrow questioningly and looked at Connor.

"Yer fifteen."

"So?"

"Aren't ye to old for this shit? I haven't… measured mine… in ages!"

Connor grabbed a sweater from the chair and pulled it over his head. Murphy struggled to get to the bathroom, yanking on his boxers and scratching his ass. Connor followed him.

"Well don't ye wanna know how big it is?"

"Uuuh, no?"

"Wrong answer Murph! Every normal guy wants ter know it!"

"Well I'm not normal am I?" Murphy tried to end the conversation. He was so not in the mood for this.

"I'm so not in the mood fer this ye know? I'm having a massive hangover and I stink. I don' want Ma to find out what we were doin' last night."

"Fuckin' pussy. I don't have a hangover!"

"That's cos yer like a fuckin' bottomless well."

Connor belched and Murphy smelled alcohol, lots of alcohol.

"Was it... you know?" Murphy suddenly asked, slightly blushing.

"What...? Oh, yeah, I had just woken up, duh."

"Oh…"_ Don't look at his crotch Murphy McManus!_

Murphy looked at the ground instead and dumped his pajamas on the ground near the rest of the dirty laundry. He slipped out of his boxers and put the shower on, trying to ignore his brother who was still standing in the doorway.

"It doesn't work."

"Ye have ter hit it once."

It worked.

"Thanks."

Silence. Murphy looked at Connor, looking ever so self-righteous.

"Will yer go away now Con?"

"Measure it."

"What-NO Connor. Now get the fuck out, I want ter shower."

"Whatever. I'm going ter do the laundry. You come down soon an' help me okay?"

Murphy glared at Connor.

"It's not me fault ye accidentally mixed the sugar wi' the salt yesterday, so Ma's gingersnaps were all ruined and nasty. It's _your _punishment!"

Connor glared back with equal strength.

"Don't forget who kicked Ennis' arse when he tried to break yer rosary, hmm?"

"I didn't need ye! I could've handled 'im meself!"

"Yeah, right, Macho Murph. He almost punched ye a broken nose! D'ye want me ter outdo him?" Connor struck a fighting pose and grinned, knowing Murphy hated his nickname.

"Come on, brothers help each other right?"

Murphy growled.

"Alright… Now go away."

Murphy grabbed his toothbrush and the toothpaste and quickly stepped into the shower as he heard Connor storming off with the laundry. The hot water soothed his headache and Murphy sighed. Routinely he began brushing his teeth. His gaze rested upon his feet. They were too long. Murphy could picture Connor nagging him about it. "Ye know what they say about long feet, hmm Murph? Probably doesn't comply to _you_."

And then he couldn't stop staring at his cock. What had Connor said, 6.7 inch? Was that long? Murphy furiously hoped his was bigger. But he wasn't going to measure the thing, that was for babies.

Or not.

He hastily finished brushing and got out of the shower to grab the ruler, making sure no one saw him. He shivered when he returned. The cold air quickly cooled his wet skin. He wanted it to be summer.

Slowly he began to stroke his cock with his left hand, from base to tip. He didn't need to come, but he had to make sure he's bigger. He could feel himself getting harder and began to gasp, stroking faster and faster. He brought his right hand to his face, biting on his index finger to shut himself up. He didn't want to alarm Connor, who would by now be washing their clothes in the garden.

It didn't take too long before Murphy was fully hard. He fished the ruler off the tiles and held it next to his cock. Yeah, he was definitely bigger than Connor.

Murphy couldn't help grinning arrogantly and discarded his original plans. Why would you waste a good wank?

"Fuck!"

Murphy moaned loudly as he came into his hand, onto the floor, the water taking it with it down the rain. He stroked his cock one more time before cleaning himself, before Connor would get suspicious.

He stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror.

Macho Murph.

More like _Massive Murph_.

He grabbed some clothes from the drawer and hid the ruler under his bed, before going downstairs to help his brother.

That night, after they had finished their homework and Russian in bed, Murphy grabbed the ruler again and tossed it to Connor, who suckled on a pencil.

"Here, I don't need it anymore!"

"Huh why not?"

"Because, stupid! I did what you asked, all right?"

Connor said up straight, but Murphy ignored him and lay down, feigning being tired. He yawned.

"And?"

"And???" Murphy mimicked his brother's voice."

"Come on!"

G'night Con." Murphy winked and showed his wicked smile to Connor.

"Naww tell me! Come on!"

"Lie down."

"Fine."

Connor blew the candles out and jumped back into bed. It was pitch dark now.

"So are ye goin' to tell me or not?"

"No."

"So I'm bigger then?" Connor asked, shifting in the bed. Murphy chuckled and watched him.

"Sure."

Murphy made sure Connor was almost asleep when he finally answered his question.

"Psst Con.. Seven point nine inch."

"Huh?"

"My cock Con… Duh... I'm bigger!"

Murphy snickered loudly as he watched Connor jump off the bed.

"WHAT NOO… Yer lying ye bastard! Jaysus!" Connor practically screamed.

"Sst… Ma's sleeping!"

"Fuck Murph let me see!"

"_What the fuck__?!_"


End file.
